


Healing Wounds

by 2blue2berry



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Jack the Ripper DLC, M/M, Post-Jack the Ripper DLC, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 11:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17446238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2blue2berry/pseuds/2blue2berry
Summary: After the ripper Jacob needs time to heal, and so does Freddy.





	Healing Wounds

No one saw what came that horrible season. No one expected it. Sure, London had her fair share of criminals and gangsters, but her people feared that autumn, and many weeks after. The reign of Jack The Ripper fell before innocents, tearing apart the internals of once kind women and throwing despise at the police out of fear. Children spread stories while their mothers huddled them close. And the press only worsened the situation by sharpening the anxiety of citizens with the publishing of letters from the ruthless miscreant. Though however cruel the words, the sights of his work was inhumane and monstrous.

 

Inspector Frederick Abberline was called upon immediately to cooperate in the case of unveiling this beast that lurked the alleys of Whitechapel. While he didn’t expect to be welcomed in open arms, the amount of stress didn’t occur to him either. Mary Ann Nichols, the poor woman, was the first of the unfortunate victims. He recalled her as Polly, a delicate and kind girl he met at the local Frying Pan Pub. The gory mess turned his stomach when Frederick was brought to the scene, a figure he once knew twisted and wronged. He hoped, prayed, that this August day would be the last, but days later showed another unlucky and horribly disemboweled girl. Annie Chapman was worse than the first. Her body was heavily mutilated and her -- goddamnit -- her womb was completely missing.

 

After studying the scene, positive the image would never leave his mind and would be sure to haunt him, he returned to his lodgings in search of some comfort in such stressful times.

 

“Well you look like shit.” A scoff escaped Frederick at the comment. No longer was he surprised by the sudden deep, familiar voice that would occasionally ring out in his home, usually depending on if the window was left open.

 

Jacob Frye sat on the quite plain sofa that resided in the middle of the living room. God, did he need him now. Anything would suffice. A whisper, a touch, a kiss -- as long as it was Jacob. It had been twenty years of seeing that handsome face that was now detailed with subtle wrinkles and creases, making his face all the more hypnotizing. “Yeah, well I quite feel like it.” He responded when he finished ogling at the assassin.

 

He didn’t remember seeing Jacob approach him but, oh, did he miss the feeling of those arms tightly around him. Freddy felt safe, secured even, in those hugs. He almost forgot this morning’s latest victim. The inspector wanted to sob, to hold his love tightly until his anxious heart settled and this murderous rampage of a disgusting ripper was long forgotten. But he didn’t. His grip tightened until white-knuckled, but he didn’t cry. Jacob knew his fear, for he felt it as well.

 

“Everything is going to be okay,” He reassured. “I will fix it...” The assassin whispered and pressed a faint kiss to his temple.

 

* * *

 

 

_Everything will be okay._

 

Frederick had those words echo in his mind on repeat when the vanishing of Jacob Frye left him to deal with his stress in another manner. He called to Evie when he got too worried, voice quivering when pleading her to come to London at once. She was happily in India with her husband Henry Green, shielded from the terrors that shadowed over the alleyways and dark night streets of Whitechapel.

 

 _I will fix it_.

 

He was gone. _Gone_ . And if a mysterious criminal possessed the same delicate arts of stealth as the set of twins he had met two decades ago, it would have to take another to find the same. _He could have Jacob by now. He could be dead,_ Anxiety whispered next to him. He denied it -- _wanted_ to deny it.

 

Miss Frye’s journey couldn’t be more sluggish: and it was several weeks until that anticipated familiar voice and face stepped into his office in question. He told her everything, the victims, the letters, and Jacob’s disappearance. Frederick’s worry easily showed, his eyes trailing off every so often in recalling the way Jacob held him, spoke to him, when the stress of his job became stomach turning. Evie noticed it and placed her gloved hand on his shoulder gently. “I’ll bring him back to us. I promise I will.” Which he weakly smiled at, and walked away to find some method of clearing his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

Frederick Abberline didn’t expect to be called to the infamous Lambeth Asylum, but upon receiving the information that Evie had urged him to come with backup he couldn’t stand still when in front of the gates. He gathered a small group of officers he trusted dearly and opened the large wooden and brass doors of the institution. It was concerning enough that it was the asylum he was called to, but even more so Evie pleaded for his arrival, with help as well. The hallways were to be expected, long and agonizing and intimidating. Muffled yells and psychotic laughter bounced off the walls, echoing through the building. The patients were released; by who? His mind jumped to conclusions, blaming the madman ripper. He kept his palm on his gun that hooked by his side, his surrounding officers copying the motion, keen and scanning the area.

 

“Keep your guard up, gentlemen. Who knows what traps and surprises could be on the loose.” The inspector warned, signalling up to the ledge of the upper floor, where a laughing man ran back and forth before finally changing directions towards another hallway path. A sigh of relief escaped several men of the group as they continued through the asylum, guns already drawn in preparation.

 

After several strides, Frederick slowed down, turning his head back to offer a suggestion. “I say we split up down these two paths. Downes? Smith? Take the right. Barnes and Tate, you go upstairs. I’ll take the basement. Anyone object?”

 

“But Inspector, are you sure you don’t need accompaniment?”

 

Frederick shook his head at the young policeman, Downes to be exact. “No, I am quite positive I can handle myself. This building’s main uses are on and above ground. There would be little reason to have patients in a basement, unless it’s some kind of solitary confinement.” The group of policemen obeyed and went their assigned directions. And the farther he walked on his own the more he regretted volunteering to explore alone, and the basement of all things.

 

With his arms outstretched and gun at the ready, he approached the almost laboratory-like room that opened up to the staircase that opened up to the deep shadows of what lay underneath the asylum. Two bodies, each with matching slit throats, lay at the foot of the stairs. _Evie,_ he concluded, and the almost raging yell he heard confirmed it. Evie Frye was down there, and from the volume of her scream, in trouble as well. Stepping over the corpses, Freddy raced down the stairs, even skipping some in a race against time. He refused to lose someone else. The sounds stopped by the time his feet were on steady ground. He panicked, gathering up any courage and skill he had left to continue searching through the basement. Another, now spiraled, staircase lead further. Ignoring any rational thought to stop and analyze his situation, he hurried down each step. A door’s creaking came from his left when he made it down. It was a iron, almost black, cellar door with a lock that stopped working long ago. He peeked through the window, spotting a woman’s figure wrapped around another, due to his restricted vision, human shape. And in the corner he could spot a lone corpse.

 

Frederick stopped thinking minutes ago and pushed the door open, gun drawn at the isolated body. With a single glimpse he spotted the familiar, and very scared face of Evie Frye.

 

“Miss Frye, what the hell happened here?” He didn’t want to take his eyes off the body. This was the monster. The beast that plummeted his job into deep risk, that slashed and murdered innocent women whose bloodied bodies haunted him. The creature that called himself Jack the Ripper. Disgust and anger boiled through his veins, his scowl easily showing it.

 

“Nothing, Inspector,” She answered, voice fragile. “Nothing happened here.” The lamp she carried gave a soft glow, revealing the man she was holding dearly. Her own twin brother.

 

Frederick’s face softened, his heart then pumping with fret and worry short after. That wasn’t the same man that kissed him once no one was looking, the man who snuck into his room to check in and even occasionally complain, the man who held him, the man who _loved_ him. This was a Jacob Frye that was tortured, beaten down to where those mesmerizing eyes were weak and intensely swollen. His left one wasn’t just swollen, but cut through completely. Frederick wanted to sob, the same way he wanted to when his stress got the best of him that one night. The same way he did when his wife had died. The assassin was stuck in an almost semi-conscious state. The one, single eye that was untouched was open, and his mouth quivered. By the way Evie sat him up, his breath was probably shallow. _What did he do to you Jacob?_

 

When she studied his expression and the way he still held the dead body at gunpoint, Evie reassured him that Jack was finally dead. “Now help me Frederick. No one must ever know Jack the Ripper was an assassin.”

 

And he did. Slamming the door and shooing away the pesky journalists that trailed after each gruesome murder. He shoved away his gun, slowly walking over to the twins. He felt numb, his knees were shaking and felt like the consistency of jelly. Jacob wasn’t dead, but, god, was he close to it. Kneeling by his lover’s side, Frederick tried to find words, but his tongue slurred and his voice trembled. “I--”

 

“He’ll live. But we need to hurry.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Evie--”

 

“Frederick for the last time, I gave him enough morphine needed. He’ll be okay but he’ll just need to wake up first.”

 

The inspector craned his neck to the side, looking back at the body that lay still — with the exception of slow, shallow breaths — on the bed. As soon as they escaped from the dreadful Lambeth Asylum, the two rushed to Freddy’s small apartment. The corrupted Rooks that still lurked the streets without the knowledge of Jack’s death would make it hard to return to familiar places such as the old train hideout or Jacob’s usual lodgings. He made some grumbles on the way, but other than that the younger twin was dragged limp, and thankfully, safely into a bed.

 

Evie had left for a quick visit to Florence Nightingale, obtaining the correct dosage of painkillers and medication while Jacob slept and for when he woke up. He had to admit, it was difficult feeding a semi-conscious man medicated liquid, but Miss Frye had to -- and multiple times at that matter -- assure him that the resting assassin would eventually awaken.

 

“Look, Inspector,” Evie stood beside his chair, resting frail palm on his tense shoulder, “I’m worried too. I--” She trailed off slightly, her gaze resting on the thick bandage around her brother’s eye. It was only painful to imagine what he was put through -- an entire month at that. “I’m _scared_. Yet he is breathing and we have the medicine he needs. He’s my brother. Maybe if… If I wasn’t in India maybe he would still be okay.”

 

She failed to hide the deep sorrow in those bright blue eyes of her, and Frederick frowned. He wanted to tell her that she couldn’t help it, that things happen for a reason, but what good would that do? It would make her sadness even worse, and his as well. But then again what was he supposed to say? That if it was him instead it would be better? That if maybe she didn’t go to India none of this would happen? He shifted his stare away from the injured man to the ceiling, beginning to ramble by accident.

 

“I remember one night after a quite exhausting day of work, he tried to cook. Called it a ‘romantic gesture to his mule of a lover’. Guess he thinks I’m stubborn due to my overbearing opinion of not having him cook. And ignoring my wisdom, he burned almost everything. Only thing that I could digest was the wine. He made an overdramatic fuss about it, though it turned out it was all because he felt bad it wasn’t the best, let alone romantic. I told him just the thought that he planned everything, tried his best, was more than enough to please.”

 

“How unlike him to plan an entire meal. You do terrible things to my brother, Inspector.” Evie covered her mouth to giggle.

 

“Terrible? I hope you know he’s gained a good bit of maturity.”

 

They laughed together, trying to ease away the heavy weight of overwhelming worry and sadness that pressed down against them more than gravity. It didn’t really help, but it distracted the two from the quiet.

 

“If I am being honest with you Frederick, Jacob loves you a lot more than you think. I fully understand how irrational he can be, his stubborn ways and illogical methods. Yet whenever it came to you, he was in his right mind. Jacob always wanted to help people, but with you,” Her gaze at him made him sure enough of the truth she was speaking. “He wanted to make you the happiest man alive. One time he even came to the train stumbling drunk, mumbling how he’d even go against the Church.”

 

“The Church..?”

 

The elder twin roller her eyes. “Yes the _Church_ , Frederick. He wanted-- wants-- to marry you. Start a family like me and Henry. Settle down and leave the past behind. It’s a shame how the past caught up…” She was talking about Jack, the boy Jacob picked up off the dangerous streets of the asylum years ago that changed into the infamous Ripper she had killed only yesterday.

 

Frederick scooted the chair closer to the side of the bed, taking his hand in the limp palm of Jacob’s, intertwining his fingers with loose ones. Marriage? Such a taboo for the two men and the already rebellious enough assassin was willing to push aside any hatred. Sure the company of alcohol followed him but Jacob had a habit of bluntness and embarrassing truth when he was drunk. Reckless, carefree, riotous Jacob wanted a simple Inspector’s hand in matrimony. He knew Jacob couldn’t respond, but his voice still shook as he spoke. “You really are an idiot…” Tears fell uncontrollably. They were slow, burning and pricking at the ends of his eyes. His hand trembled when he rose it to his lips, pressing a soft, faint kiss to Jacob’s knuckle. Evie’s grip loosened on his shoulder, rubbing soft circled on his back instead.

 

“I’ll fetch some fruits and soft foods he can eat when he wakes up. You could use the time alone.” She waved him off and caught one last glance at her brother before leaving. When he heard the door shut and when the footsteps seemed far enough, he bowed his head to where his forehead touched the same hand he held of his lover.

 

“I am so sorry this happened to you, my love. But you’re going to be okay, _we’re_ going to be okay. I promise… Oh, what did he put you through? A month of torture, starvation,” He straightened his posture to where his right hand still held Jacob’s left and his eyes focused on the face he had to have look at a thousand times by now. Chapped lips, bruised cheeks and bloody bandages decorated his face, almost impossible to see the simple handsome freckles and wrinkles that stood before the Ripper had the assassin in his grasp. The sight and recollection of the Jacob that brightly beamed at him when Freddy’s face showed clear signs that he was in trouble almost made him cry. Frederick tried his best to smile through the trailing droplets that fell from his eyes.

 

“I remember when you came back from India. As soon as I got the letter with the date you’d arrive by, I didn’t leave the train station that day for one minute. I easily could tell you a thousand times that I was extremely joyous when I saw you in the crowd — and I’m sure I have — but it wouldn’t be enough to explain the feeling. Happiness, relief, joy, bliss, love. We did have to hug quickly to avoid watching eyes, but by God, did you drag me to the bedroom as soon as we came home.” He paused to laugh, chasing away some of the tears. “I miss you, Jacob Frye… Please just — give me a sign, anything.”

 

Freddy didn’t know how long it took him to register the return of a grip on his hand, but his breath hitched. Almost lost in thought he was, ignoring the increasingly steadying of Jacob’s breathing. He gave his hand a light squeeze, hoping his face would give any symbol of stirring awake; a twitch, a mumble, a _word_.

 

“Jacob?”

 

It felt like hours in the few seconds it took until a gasp, however small and shallow it was, filled the intense silence. Frederick covered his mouth with his hand in disbelief and pure, unconditional bliss. _Please, please tell me you’re here._

 

Those lovely brown eyes opened and have never looked more weak. Groaning in pain and struggling for words, Jacob looked around the room until he found the soft, smiling — and almost tear-soaked — policeman, fingers squished against each other in a familiar way.

 

“Freddy? It really is you? I.. Where am I,” His eyes widened in panic, nails of his still weak fingers pressing as hard as they could against Frederick’s. “Jack... Where’s Jack?!” They were still in danger in his mind, and it was heartbreaking to see the amount of control the ex-assassin had over Jacob; fueling that fear and anxiety with just a thought.

 

“Oi, oi, hey,” A gentle, slightly calloused hand pressed delicately against Jacob’s jowls, feeling the unkempt, longer-than-Jacob-usually-liked-it stubble, and tried his best to hush the man. “He’s gone. Dead. He can’t hurt you now.”

 

“What about Evie, is she—“

 

“Here? Yes, off to get some food you can eat.” Those stinging tears once again itched his eyes, close to spilling. So he cried, thanking God -- whatever being watched over them, whatever made this universe, anyone who would even care to listen -- and thanked them for Jacob’s survival. Indeed he was told he’d make it, but as time passed his doubts got the best of him. Now he was here, in front of him, awake and attempting to raise a hand to Freddy’s cheek and completely missing his target. His eye would have to adjust to the distorted depth perception, but for now Freddy guided his hand to his face, almost sobbing at the tender way the rough, calloused, thumb brushed against his warm skin the same way he was regularly accustomed to.

 

“You’re crying, love. What’s wrong?” Oh, that sweet voice he’d missed. It was only when they were alone Jacob cooed so daringly, each syllable a chime of worry, care, and love.

 

Sniffing away what he could, Frederick grinned. “I just wish I said I love you that night. Not just any simple, nonchalant sentence,” His voice wavered. “A statement. An ‘I love you, Jacob Frye, and you mean so, so much to me’, a ‘Please hold me I’m worried and I can’t lose you again’, a ‘Hold my hand and kiss me until I forget about this horrid autumn’. You were gone for a _month,_ Jacob, and you’re finally here. Awake. Breathing and talking and _with me_.” When he finally looked up, positive he had cried all the seventy percent of water in his body, the Inspector found Jacob lost for words, face slack in shock.

 

“Freddy--”

 

“I’m not crying because something’s wrong… But because something is finally right for the first time in a _month_.” He caught a grip on himself, shooting away the tears with his glove and a short laugh. “Forgive me, it seems I’ve lost a bit of control.”

 

Jacob’s chuckle in return was cut off by a short cough and wheeze, then a wince at a surge of pain. He smiled weakly, “Don’t apologize… Ugh, please tell me there’s some painkillers or medication somewhere?”

 

Freddy sprung from his cushioned seat, nodding quickly. “Yes! Let me go get it.” He said a bit too enthusiastically. He didn’t want to seem like a hovering mother, but as if he’d let Jacob get hurt again. Retrieving the flask and unscrewing the top, the inspector used the tip of his fingers to tilt the assassin’s head back, letting the liquid hit the back of his throat at an easier angle.

 

When Jacob swallowed the dosage, a bitter gag escaping him, he smirked like he always used to. “My own personal nurse? A shame you aren’t dressed the part.”

 

“Knowing you, you would probably enjoy greatly.”

 

“I surely would.” Shaking fingers grasped the indigo scarf that layered around Frederick’s neck, pulling him into a quick kiss. He smelled like London; smog, bitter smoke, and yet the pleasant scent of ocean and cinnamon. Freddy has always smelled like that, but to have it by his side once again made him tremble more than he was. When he pulled away the largest grin stretched across his face. “Never thought I would feel that again.”

 

Frederick almost walked back to his chair until Jacob tugged on his velvet soft sleeve. “Don’t leave.”

 

“I’m still here Jacob, I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”

 

Jacob shook his head. “No, not that. I mean stay _here_. Close.” He patted the empty, large enough space to his right. There was enough room for another person to rest, but Freddy knew he was going to have to be careful, who knew what hidden cuts Jacob had that could hurt with pressure.

 

“Okay,” He replied, “Okay.” Repeating just to register the action. He climbed into the bed, resting his back on the headboard, afraid if he lay his body down the wrong way Jacob would get uncomfortable.

 

“Come down here.” The slick, cooing voice of Jacob pleaded. The policeman obliged, obediently sliding down to rest on his left side, facing his love. Due to Jacob’s inability to completely turn around, Freddy angled his body and face to where Jacob didn’t have to crane his neck too far. Their stares were too intimate, too sweet, to have words break through, and when Frederick tried, he stumbled over each syllable.

 

“I… Jacob,” Getting lost in Jacob’s eyes (well, eye) didn’t help either. He didn’t even know what he was saying by the time he spat it out. “Did you really want to marry me?”

 

Pale skin turned flushed and hot. Placing a palm on his forehead and groaning, the Frye let out an embarrassed response. “Evie told you? I hope she didn’t leave out the part where I was _drunk_. But… I wouldn’t mind it. I’d gladly get on a knee and ask you for your hand. If it weren’t for the mindset of the majority I’d proudly yell from the highest rooftop ‘Hey all you bastards! I’m going to marry Inspector Frederick Abberline!’ But — What’s that look for?” He paused, observing the soft stare Freddy held, fingertips lightly tracing his bare chest, careful of the bruises. He was rambling and Frederick noticed before he could.

 

“Nothing. I think you should rest. Who knows what that morphine is doing to your brain.”

 

“Oh, funny. I’m being serious about our relationship after the terrifying grasp of a murderer and you brush it off as a mere joke?”

 

“I never said it was a joke.” He pressed a kiss against his temple, climbing out of bed to wait for Evie’s soon arrival. “Now rest.”

 

“Whatever you say, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> These two always have a soft spot in my heart,, always my favs that deserve some more love and appreciation


End file.
